Discovering Delilah (Harborside Nights, Book 2) (11 page)

“Yeah.” I answer, remembering how Ashley opened her arms
to me even after she knew I’d been with Janessa and knowing I might not be able to reciprocate publicly for who knows how long.

Yet
.

This is my new plan. I’m convincing myself that I’ll figure out a way to move past everything that’s holding me back.

“Dee, we have to figure out when we’re going back to Connecticut,” Wyatt reminds me. We decided to sell our house in Connecticut since
we both want to stay in Harborside. I think he’s bringing it up now to take the pressure off of me coming clean with everyone. He’s always watching out for me, even when I don’t think he is. “Aunt Lara is packing up most of Mom’s and Dad’s stuff, but I asked her not to do their bedroom, like you wanted. The real estate agent said we should get it on the market before winter.”

“I think the
weekend after next is good,” I answer.

“Okay. What are we going to do about the Taproom?”

“Why don’t you stay and take care of the bar while I go back home, and then I’ll manage it while you go another time?”

Wyatt shakes his head. “No way. I can’t let you go back alone. You don’t know how you’re going to react to being there.”

I press my lips together to keep my annoyance from
coming out. Normally I’d just say okay, but lately I’ve been feeling too restricted,
too
taken care of.

“I’m not a kid, Wyatt. I’ll be fine.”

“Dee…” His eyes turn serious again.

“I know it’s going to be hard, Wy, but I can handle it.” I watch as doubt fills his eyes, and it stirs anger—and worry—in my gut, because I have no idea if I’ll be fine. I’ve never had to handle anything like
this on my own. Heck, I’ve never had to handle much on my own. But if I’m ever going to break free of this guilt, I have to try.

“The grief counselor says we should try to envision a future where memories of Mom and Dad don’t pull me under. This is a start. I’ll be fine.”

“But—”

Cassidy touches his arm and shakes her head. I’m thankful when he relents.

“Okay, now that that’s settled.”
Brandon’s eyes shift between me and Wyatt. “So, Delilah, let me get this straight. You’re a lesbian?”

Wyatt grabs his arm so hard I’m sure he’ll leave a bruise.

“Back off.” Wyatt’s eyes narrow.

“Wyatt.” Cassidy touches his arm, and he loosens his grip.

“It’s okay, Wyatt. I have to do this at some point, and I know I’m not exactly comfortable saying this in front of strangers, so…I
might as well say it where I can. It’s a start.” I meet Brandon’s expectant gaze and push past the twisting in my stomach.

“Yes. I am. I’m…” Why is it so hard for me to say
I’m a lesbian
? I hate that it’s hard, but the word gets stuck in my throat. It kills me that I’m finally with Ash, and even dead, my parents are stealing the joy of it.

Tristan covers my hand with his. “Baby steps.
Finding your comfort zone isn’t a race. It’s a slow progression of coming into your true self, and no one can set that pace but you.”

“Fuck baby steps. Own it, Delilah. Be loud and proud.” Brandon pats his chest.

“Loud and proud isn’t for everyone.” Tristan glares at Brandon, then turns softer eyes toward me. “This is a first step for you, and I’m proud of you.”

Wyatt eyes Brandon
with a silent warning to back off. Brandon holds his hands up in surrender.

“I need to tell you guys something.” I swallow the fear that’s prickling my limbs and threatening to steal my voice. “I’m not proud of the way I’ve lived my life so far, but it’s what I had to do. You guys knew my parents. You knew their views on this.” I pause, because when I think back, I
don’t
remember my parents
ever looking at Brandon or Tristan the way they looked at me when I came out to them on graduation day.

“Your parents?” Tristan releases my hand and looks at Wyatt.

“They weren’t exactly pro same-sex relationships,” Wyatt explains.

“They never said anything to me.” Tristan sits back and crosses his arms. His biceps flex and his brows knit together.

“How do you know, Wyatt? Because
I’m with Tristan on this,” Brandon says with a serious tone. “They never said anything to me either, or made me feel out of place, and hey, I don’t exactly hide my lifestyle.”

Wyatt tried to talk to me about Mom and Dad several times this summer, but I haven’t wanted to. When we first got here, my emotions were too raw and I was too scared about how we were going to learn to live without them
to even think about my feelings in
that
department. But over the last few weeks, my feelings for Ashley have grown, and I want to get past this.

“They were pretty verbal with me and Dee,” Wyatt explains. “I always thought it was weird that they could treat you guys fine, when back home they made no bones about what they believed was right and wrong. Dee—”

I hold up my hand to silence him.
“I’ll tell them.” Wyatt likes to take care of me, and I love that he does, but if I’m going to figure this out, I have to learn to deal with these things on my own. I hope that starting here, among our friends, will make it easier to face the rest of the world.

“I hid my sexuality from everyone and denied it to myself. I’m not proud of it, but I hid it from you guys, from my parents, from
Wyatt and Cassidy. Well, until Wyatt confronted me a few years ago and I finally told him the truth.” Wyatt holds my gaze, and I read a hundred things in his eyes. That he’s there for me, that I don’t need to explain anything. That he’ll take care of it, which only makes me want to stand up and do it on my own even more.

“I did date a guy in college,” I admit. “But it was just to fit in and
to be able to go to parties without being hit on.”

“Aw, Delilah. Plenty of gay people hook up with straight people to fit in. Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Tristan touches my arm again.

“If what you’re saying about your parents is true, it’s people like that who cause their kids to commit suicide and feel ashamed of themselves.” Brandon sips my coffee. “Been there, done that. Well, not
the suicidal part.”

“Hey, our parents aren’t here to defend themselves,” Wyatt says in a serious voice. “Believe me, Brandon, if anyone wants to give my parents hell, it’s me. But that’s my place, not yours, so be respectful.”

Brandon turned a serious and respectful gaze to Wyatt. “Sorry, man.”

“I know lots of people do that, Tristan, but I’m not sure how to get past it, and I want
to. I desperately want to.” The hurt in Ashley’s eyes crashes back in like a wave breaking in my chest.

Cassidy moves from Wyatt’s lap and pulls up the empty chair next to me. She sits down and leans in close. Cassidy grew up around the corner from us in Connecticut. Her parents were never around, so she spent lots of time at our house, and until meeting Ashley, Cassidy was my closest female
friend.

“Delilah, I’m sure that right now it seems like you have two choices—come out to everyone or live a secret life. But it’s really not that black-and-white. Have you talked to Ashley about this?”

I nod, thankful that she understands, too. “She knows, and she still wants to be with me.”

Cassidy looks at Wyatt and smiles, then looks at me again. “Then it doesn’t matter what anyone
else thinks. Just do what comes naturally.”

“Sometimes doing what comes naturally is the hardest thing on earth.”

~Ashley~

THIS HAS BEEN the longest day of my life. Learning to surf is about a million times harder than I thought it was going to be, and I had a terrible time trying to concentrate on anything other than Delilah. Drake was patient as a saint, but every time he held on to my board to steady me, I wished he was Delilah. When he cheered me on, I wanted it to be her who
was proud of me. And I knew she would be. I kept looking up at the dunes, where she and I have been meeting in the early mornings, hoping she’d appear.

And then there is the war that’s been raging between my head and my heart. I promised myself I wouldn’t get involved with anyone who wasn’t
out
. I’ve been down this road. I know how painful it is, and yet here I am, doing it again.

Oh,
Delilah, what am I going to do?

Luckily, the surf shop was superbusy today, so I didn’t have much downtime to brood or count down the hours until I’d see Delilah again. After work I stopped at the Harborside General Store to pick up a few things, like Delilah’s favorite crackers and hot chocolate.

I check the clock. She’s going to be here any minute. She had to work until ten, and it’s
almost ten fifteen. She’s been to my apartment a million times, but tonight I’m extra nervous. I’ve already washed and changed my sheets, run the vacuum, showered, and put on the prettiest underwear and bra that I own under one of my regular tops and shorts, so I don’t look too eager. It’s been a long time since I cared about any of these things, and even though I know Delilah won’t care if my apartment
is messy or my underwear doesn’t match my bra, I can’t help the fluttering in my chest or the anticipation that’s been building since she first returned my text this morning and asked if she could see me tonight.

Can she? I couldn’t even believe it was a question.

Doesn’t she know she owns me?

From the moment I saw her, she’s been weaseling her way into my heart. She’s the only person
who could ever break through the walls I built around my heart after Sandy.

I turn on my iTunes playlist, which has been full of Delilah’s favorite bands since we first met: Paramore, 5 Seconds of Summer, Imagine Dragons, and a handful of others. My apartment is on the second floor and faces the ocean. It’s not very spacious, but I like having my own place, and the view of the ocean reminds
me of Delilah’s house, which makes me feel closer to her. I dance around the room lighting candles, then dim the lights. My living room feels romantic with the candles flickering in the breeze coming through the balcony doors and music playing softly in the background.

A knock on the door sends my stomach into a whirlwind. Suddenly the room feels like I’m trying too hard. I run around blowing
out the candles, waving my hands around, trying to get the scent of sulfur out of the room. 

Crap. Why did I do that?

She knocks again, and I flick on the lights, feeling like an idiot. There’s no disguising the scent of extinguished candles.

I breathe deeply, once, twice, three times. I’m never nervous like this, and it makes me even more nervous because it’s such an unfamiliar feeling.

I reach for the doorknob, then hesitate, giving myself a get-your-head-on-straight talk.

I’m not going to kiss her first thing
.
This is all new to her. She needs time to adjust.

I’m going to be cool about it so I don’t scare her off
.

No. Kissing
.

Until she wants to.

One more deep breath and I open the door.

Delilah smiles.

She smiles.

I can’t get enough of Delilah’s
smiles, and it melts all my good intentions.

As she steps into the room, I slip my hand behind her neck—her neck, that’s another part of her that I can’t get enough of—and I press my lips to hers.

So much for keeping it cool
.

Finally, after hours of feeling like I was holding my breath to get from one minute to the next, I can breathe. And she kisses me back. I love how she kisses
me back, like she’s been as desperate for me as I’ve been for her. The door clicks softly behind her, and I back her against the wall, fisting my hand in her hair. Her hands are all over me, on my waist, my ribs, my ass. I love when she grabs my ass like I’m hers.

I
am
hers.

I know I’m already in way too deep to walk away if she can’t be open about our relationship. I know this as I lift
her shirt over her head and toss it aside. I know this as she does the same to mine, then kisses the crest of my breast, making my knees weaken. We’re kissing, panting, begging, moaning, as we strip away each other’s clothes right there in the foyer.

“Where have you been all my life?” I say against her lips as I unsnap her shorts and tug them down her beautiful hips.

“Waiting for you.”

Her perfect answer spurs me on.

How can she do that with three little words?

She’s wearing her favorite boots, and this makes me happy, because it means she feels confident. I love
confident Delilah
as much as I love
shy Delilah
,
uncertain Delilah
,
sexy Delilah
, and
sleepy Delilah
. But tonight of all nights, I’m thankful that
confident Delilah
is here, kissing me in my foyer wearing
nothing but a light blue thong and those boots.

“Jesus, you’re sexier than hell.” I rake my eyes down her body, and her cheeks flush, but she returns the heat-inducing leer, dragging her eyes down my nearly naked body, save for my own pink panties and bra. The hunger in her eyes sets me in motion again.

She tries to toe off her boots, and I crouch to help her. I take them off and set them
aside, then place one hand on the back of each of her legs and kiss my way up her right calf to her thigh, where I linger. I kiss the inside of her thigh and trail featherlight kisses up and over her muscles. She fists her hand in my hair, and when I lift my eyes, I catch her staring down at me, biting her lower lip. Her cheeks are flushed, and her long blond hair hangs loose and tousled over
her peaked nipples. She’s too stunning for words, and for a beat it’s all I can do to stare at her. I force myself to my feet and nudge her legs apart with my knees, grip her hips, and hold her against the wall as I bring my mouth to her neck and kiss her lightly.

A breeze sweeps through the living room from the open balcony doors, and I feel her shiver as she presses her hips to mine.

“I want to taste you,” I whisper against her cheek.

She stops breathing for a second. I’ve embarrassed her, and I fear she’ll retreat.

“No.” I freeze, but before I can react, she adds, “Let
me
taste
you
.”